Always Around

Chapter Five.2

It took time for me to process what I was seeing. My writing mentor was eating a peanut butter sandwich and was drinking coffee with the two people who firmly opposed my passion for writing - Mom and Dad.

I think it's worth mentioning that I never told Professor Rye that my parents do not like me pursuing a career as a writer. They would not be happy that I'm seeing a mentor for the very thing they didn't want me doing. Oops, I guess?

Should I fear what they might end up discussing? Will Prof unknowingly spill my secret? Should I drag my teacher out of our compound before a fight breaks out? Is this alright, or should I pack my bags for my parents' inevitable disownment of their only son?

"Ah, Gladwell! You're here!" Prof Rye exclaimed as they saw me staring from the front steps of my house. They looked relaxed. Too relaxed. I decided to get them out of there the first chance I got. Ven didn't seem worried about the people around the outdoor table. I shoved him with an elbow, and he looked at me in annoyance as a response. Thanks to that, he saw my expression and understood right away - disapproving parents plus a supportive mentor equals a heated argument waiting to happen.

"Prof! What brings you here?" Ven started as he made his way to the adults. He was trying to buy me time as I thought of a reason to leave with the professor as soon as possible.

"I was thinking about introducing myself to Well's family since we've had our weekly... tutoring sessions... for quite some time now. I figured they needed to put a face to my name. I didn't think I would be so lucky to catch Mister and Madame Esquejo here!" Prof chuckled after saying this and looked at my father, who smiled and nodded in approval.

I shouldn't have worried. Prof was too discerning to slip up like this. They must have observed something in the short time they were with my parents that convinced them it wasn't safe to reveal my writing commitments just yet.

"It's great news for us that a teacher is helping our son's academics. And for free, too!" Mom interjected while making sandwiches with my Aunt Julie, who's quiet but most definitely taking notes on the most gossip-worthy happenings in her front yard.

Mom's words and intonation are happy and grateful. But I couldn't quite place the look on her face as she stared at Prof from head to toe. Was it confusion? What's to be confused about, though? Was it Prof's cap? The white long-sleeved shirt paired with the black, floor-length, straight skirt? Prof's stubble? Their running shoes? To Raven and me, these looked normal, Professor Rye's outfits outside school.

"It is, and a renowned educator at that," Dad agreed with Mom. "Thank you, Sir..."

"Professor," Prof corrected.

"Thank you, Professor Rye," Dad continued. He then turned to Ven and me, standing next to the table. "Why have you not told us that the cramming sessions were a weekly commitment? It's a good thing your teacher is someone I know we can trust. You kids should sponge as much knowledge as you can from him, you hear? Do you know how influential he is as an international and national contributor to modern ecology research?"

"They make us clean test tubes and glass rods at school," I joked. Dad was quick to shoot me a disapproving look.

"It flatters me that you would know of my work, Mister Esquejo," Prof steered my father's attention from me to them.

"It is necessary now in my profession to stay updated on the latest environment-related advancements. We are obligated to practice engineering within ecological limitations, as all industries should. Your work on societal and environmental restrictions on technology and engineering applications had more or less become our handbook." My father rarely lets slip when he sees something or someone admirable. This moment, right here, is my father's version of fangirling. I felt almost giddy seeing this side of him now. My aunt's and mother's gawking is just a welcome addition to this moment.

"I've found that nothing is more important than keeping the balance in every ecosystem," Prof explained. "Innovations should be pursued, but only with society, the people's values, at the forefront of the minds of the people in charge. This principle's application goes from the worldwide ecosystem to each person's household environment. You must know how Gladwell brilliantly tackled this concept in one of his written articles!"

Prof was bluffing. I've never written about ecology or innovation restrictions.

"Really? I didn't know he would be interested in topics like this," Dad said, a hint of pleasant surprise in his voice. Without even a glance in my direction, he continued their conversation. "What did his article center on?"

"Gladwell discussed how corporate advancements can leave out societal and environmental interests for monetary gain and unnecessary innovations. The image it left me was devastating."

Oh, the prose. Prof was talking about Loving Alone. I'm not going to lie- the way Professor Rye spun my writing makes for a great essay idea. I should note this for future use.

Prof continued. "I assign him a fairly broad scientific subject to read about each week. Then, he'll have to write a research paper or at least an essay tackling a specific topic under the given subject to present when we meet up for tutoring. It is a bit heavy for a weekly assignment, but I believe it's necessary for youths with excessive creative energy. It helps them funnel their attention and efforts to a single important topic at a time."

Prof looked straight at my Dad as they explained this. In my mind, it's as if they were challenging my father, testing him. Will he fully understand what Prof was saying and respectfully decline Prof's "tutoring" altogether? Or will he only understand enough to allow me to write "research papers"?

"Hmm," Dad started with his normal low, raspy voice. "Gladwell, what's your research about this week?"

Think fast, Gladwell.

"Uhh, it's um... about the Ophiocordyceps unilateralis. It's a fungus discovered in... 1895? Sorry, 1859. It alters its host's behavior, usually ants." My tongue almost got tied up by the scientific name. What a time to spout scientific trivia!

"Prof, I think we need to go now. We have reservations, and I can't wait to get my hands on a karioka," Raven blurted. Ah, he must be feeling tension again. I think my parents scared away his confidence for the day.

Mom, who had been whispering to her sister the entire time, turned her attention to my best friend and co-conspirator.

Think fast, Raven.

"What's your research, dear boy?" my mother asked.

I swear I felt the very moment Ven froze up and moved again after milliseconds of scouring his brain for a convincing answer. He is silly, loud, and an open book despite being emotionally sensitive. He might not look like a thinker, but he is sharp when push comes to shove.

"Uh, hospital triages and their potential systematic flaws resulting in compounded damage during mass hospitalizations," Raven replied. I could hear the slight shakiness of his voice, but to be fair, his answer was remarkable for non-existent research.

Mom couldn't form a response to Raven's answer, but Dad turned to look straight at him. "Controversial," my father commented with a challenging raised eyebrow. Dad took his time to assess my face and Raven's - possibly to look for signs of whether we were hiding something. Air refused to enter our lungs until my father nodded to himself and turned to Prof Rye.

Dad started by slightly bowing from his seat toward our teacher. "Thank you for going out of your way to teach these kids. I haven't expected my son to capture the attention of one of the brightest minds in the country, yet here you are. Please take care of them, and tell us how we can help with your plans for their education."

Sweet air filled back my system. I looked at Raven with a smile, and I could tell I wasn't the only one relieved by the outcome of this encounter. After a series of handshakes among the adults - Prof Rye, Ven, and I went on our way. Side by side, we practically bolted away to avoid further scrutiny.

Our walk was quiet until we got about three blocks away from the Esquejo compound. The silence was, of course, broken by Raven and his exaggerated sigh.

"When your parents visit again, you will not see me the whole time they're here. Not even my shadow!" Raven shouted at me. I can't blame him. We barely got through the few hours we were within meters from Mom and Dad.

"I'll try to send you a notice next time," I responded with a shove. "You didn't tell me you were studying triages!" I teased.

"You didn't tell me your parents do not support your writing!" Prof interjected, trying to copy my tone to Raven. Cold sweats started building on my temple and nape.

"I was so scared for him, Prof!" Raven butted in. "How did you know not to spill his secret?" he asked. Thank heavens for this loud friend of mine.

"It wasn't hard to figure it out," Prof shrugged. "When I came by to ask for Gladwell, his cousin invited me in. His father then greeted me and asked if I was his son's tutor. His mother asked if I was a beggar. I explained to them that I am a teacher from Saint Adelaide."

Prof turned to me and continued. "That's when your mother started complaining about your grades. She thanked me for helping you cram science lessons. She ranted about how relieved she was that you must have less time on your stories now. The next thing I knew, I was sipping coffee and listening to your parents discuss your complete disregard of their wishes that you become an engineer."

I couldn't face my teacher until they placed their hands on my and Raven's heads. Prof said, "you'll have to thank me, my sons." I could hear their smile through their words. "We just acquired your free passes to write at home without hiding." I looked at my teacher's face and found they were grinning. They continued, "I am excited for the stories you'll be able to write now." Prof Rye then laughed and ruffled our hair.

The sound of Prof's laughter infected me with happiness and a sense of freedom. This feeling will be another core memory. It will live beside the rent-free space of my father's lack of faith in me.

We continued talking about my parents and how intense the mood was hours before Prof came. Prof explained that lying is not okay, and we should not copy what they did. I would be more convicted of their warnings if they weren't so relieved with the liberty their lie afforded me.

"Since when were you interested in zombie fungus, Gladwell?" Prof Rye asked as we sat down at our usual restaurant. They placed our orders while waiting for my response.

It took time to answer their question. Since the answer was related to the novel, saying it would step on my original dramatic plan to introduce my manuscript to my mentor.

"Uhm, it's been months since I first researched about them. They're the inspiration for the writing I brought with me today." I pulled my manuscript from my bag and placed it where my plate should be.

Looking at the bunch of paper on the table, around a ream of yellow pad papers, Prof remarked, "That's quite a lot for your usual weekly story!" They chuckled while running their hand at one corner of the stack of papers.

"I don't have a short story this week, Prof. That is... uh... I have been working on a sci-fi horror novel. That is the first manuscript draft."

A lump formed in my throat as my momentary confidence drowned in insecurity and anticipatory anxiety.

"Does everyone want coffee after meal today?" a calming voice chimed in. Nanay (Mother) Pasencia, the pleasant elderly restaurant owner, served our food with the most welcoming smile. She'd always taken care of us whenever we were there. She would always put extra karioakas in our bilao and provide us unlimited coffee - offers she said she rarely gave to other customers. Bilao is a round, flat, woven tray often used to store and serve food in the Philippines.

Professor Rye thought for a while before responding to Nanay. "We won't be drinking coffee today, Nanay. We will be back at it next week, though! Please don't offer it to anyone else." they said in a cheery voice. Nanay laughed, her wrinkles hiding her thin eyes and her open mouth showing the very few teeth she had left. "Alright, then," Nanay said as she picked up her serving tray from our table, smiled at Ven, and then at me. "Such diligent students, these two!" she said as she placed down the extra karioka packs hidden in her apron pocket. "I haven't seen a single student with school supplies all Christmas season except for you." She then turned to Prof Rye. "Don't push them too hard, Rye! It's their vacation!" Nanay laughed and placed a hand on Prof's shoulder. "You better take it easy as well."

Prof laughed as well and patted Nanay's hand. "Thank you, Nanay. We'll get our drinks from one of the younger waiters, alright? You rest."

"You know I enjoy hands-on work here, Rye. It makes me feel young again." Nanay then gave us the brightest smile, bowed, and headed back to her kitchen. "Thank you, 'Nay!" Raven and I shouted her way in unison.

"I love Nanay. She's like my Mom after a day of pampering. Just that pure happiness glow," Raven shared as he started stuffing his face with the freshly cooked fried chickens.

After the intermission, courtesy of Nanay Pasencia, Prof took us back to our previous conversation. "A novel, Well. That's impressive! And quite unexpected too! I did not expect you'd be comfortable with long-form writing," they started as they set aside their plate to place my manuscript on their placemat. "Since when have you been working on this?" they asked as they started to skim through the pages.

"I... it was days after Loving Along." God, I still cringe at the thought of that on-the-spot prose. I continued, "being an author is my long-term goal, so I thought maybe I could take the tips you give me for my short stories and start building on my first manuscript submission."

"And I helped!" Raven added. "He taught me to proofread! Although we didn't have enough time to proofread the last five chapters thoroughly. This prick only gave me a copy today before his parents grilled us." He was poking my face across the round table while saying this.

I grabbed and threw back his finger at him when I remembered. "Hey, were you able to spout the triage thing earlier because you remembered chapter three?"

"Yeah! The hospital issues during the peak of infection!" Raven answered. That's why it was so convincing! We wrote that part while looking up real-life cases of large-scale accidents overwhelming medical institutions!

"That was way back in July. Sharp memory!" I commended.

"This is remarkable, you two!" Prof Rye said, their face showing how thrilled they were. "I haven't read it yet, but I'm already so proud of you both!"

"You gotta read it in full, Prof!" It'll hook you for sure!" Raven said, overselling our work.

Maybe this was just me and my inability to receive positive feedback, but the exchange convinced me that the final draft was not good enough for Prof or anyone else to read.

"Uhm, maybe the draft will be ready next week?" I meekly stated, trying to find a way to get the manuscript back from Prof.

"Bro, I don't think we'll need to edit things now since it's only the last five chapters we need to recheck. Prof can read it now so we can address their notes with the next round of proofing." Raven explained as Prof nodded in agreement.

I squirmed in my seat, "but maybe there are things we missed? Maybe there are things we can improve before Prof reads it? Or maybe there are inconsistencies in the story, or worse, plot holes!" I tried to grab the manuscript when Prof placed their right hand on it, keeping it firmly on the table.

"Gladwell," Prof said in a low voice while looking at me in evident concern. "You're overthinking again, son. We're here as your friends and as your support system as a writer. This manuscript doesn't have to be perfect. It's a draft, as you said. It doesn't even have to be good! If this manuscript is as good as it's ever going to get, we won't have the fun of reimagining the twists and turns of the story!" Prof chuckled as Raven crossed his arms and smugly nodded in agreement.

"It's just..." I tried to explain my sudden anxiety about my novel but couldn't. How do you make people understand insecurity you personally couldn't comprehend?

"Eat up. Let's discuss this somewhere else," Prof firmly stated. It made me think I pissed them off, but before I could apologize...

"Gladwell, are you alright? I understand you might feel uneasy about your first novel draft. We'll only be heading somewhere your manuscript won't collect cooking oil." Prof Rye smiled at me as Raven started dividing the kariokas across all our plates.

"Gladwell lacks confidence despite being gifted. It makes me think I have unearned confidence since I'm kinda just a sidekick," Raven said. He delivered this as a joke, but I understood where he wanted this conversation to go. I would object to what was just said. I would insist that he is more talented than he thinks. I would say he's no sidekick. Then he would tell me to tell those things to myself. We had this exchange before, and I smiled as I remembered this. Raven grinned. "There he is!" he said.

We finished our early dinner and drove to the city in Prof's car. They said one of their former students opened a cafe, and they wanted us to see it since it's a hotspot for local creators - artists of all kinds. They said it is also a good place for us to go through my novel.

When we arrived at the said cafe, I first noticed the interior walls covered with many paintings, with no particular theme. Some were abstract, others realistic. What tied everything together were the carefully sculpted and varnished wood furniture and the bar that almost looked like a work of art itself. Covering its surfaces were intricate patterns of a dog, a boy, and a grasshopper. No idea if it has any meaning, but it was mesmerizing. The entire cafe was clean and well-arranged, but what made the place arresting was how it looked - for lack of a better term - messy because of the various visual stimulation.

As we sat down near the small area where they prep the food, a woman poked her head out the order window. She scanned the entire coffee shop until she spotted Professor Rye. She then took her head out the window and went out of the kitchen to happily greet Prof with a hug and a smile. Something about her was familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. After a few minutes of talking, they turned to Ven and me.

"Well, Ven, this is Vinny. Full name, Violeta," Prof introduced the woman with a grin. Vinny then tapped Prof on the shoulder. "Prof, why'd you have to say my full name?! It's weird!" Vinny said with a laugh.

"Hello! I own this little cafe. Prof here made sure I worked my ass off to get this up. I was their college student!" Vinny grinned, and instantly I knew why she looked so familiar!

"Oh! Are you related to Nay Pasencia?! You look so much like her!" Ven excitedly said. He beat me to it! Her thin eyes and wide smile. They both have this weird walk, too. Their torsos and heads stay still, and only their waists and legs twist to avoid whatever's on their way. That should've been a dead giveaway!

"You know my mom!" Vinny shared Ven's enthusiasm. "You must be regulars at the restaurant!"

"We sure are. We love Nanay. Prof takes us there every Thursday," I said, trying to join the conversation. To this, Vinny smiled in my direction.

"Well, thank you! She's always excited to see familiar people eating in the resto. It's always been her joy to see people enjoy her food. Guess I got that from her. It's always obvious when people enjoy what they do, right? That glow. I can't explain it, but it sure slowed my mother's aging. You should see her at home, just talking and talking every day about her customers and her food."

I understood Vinny. I understood Nanay's passion. What I couldn't understand was their confidence. I wonder how it is to be sure of every dish they serve from their kitchens. Are they even sure of every single order they serve? If so, where do they get that certainty that their food will be good for every single customer?

"Oh, that's how this guy is whenever he holds a pen and paper. He's so loud when he writes!" Raven shared while poking my face. I immediately felt embarrassed. "I didn't know writers can be loud... because you know... I thought they only write or think about writing."

"I assume he's only loud because he finally has someone he can bounce his ideas to, meaning you, Raven," Prof stated. Ven pretended to be flattered by covering his pouted lips with his left hand and waving off the compliment with his right hand. We all laughed.

"A writer! Cool! Lots of writers flock here for open mics and book readings. Most times, they stay for hours working on their latest projects." Vinny said. "We have an open mic tonight! Do you have anything you can read for us?"

"Oh, I don't think I have anything ready for that," I quickly responded. I couldn't possibly do live readings. Not now, anyway.

Vinny looked at Prof and then to Ven. Both said nothing.

"Oh, it's fine! When you're ready, I hope we'll be the venue for your first book-reading!" Vinny said, and somehow the same comfort in her mother's smiles emanated from her kind words.

She addressed the three of us. "Well, the open mic will start at around 6 P.M. It'll get a bit loud then, just to warn you. I'll send out lattes for the table. On the house! Ven, if you have the energy to sing a song for us, you will be my hero for the rest of my life."

"Then, as you wish! Living on a Prayer, Bon Jovi, sometime around 8 P.M., madame!" Ven replied with a bowing motion.

Vinny laughed at this while giving Ven a thumbs up. She then held Prof's arm and excused herself.

Ven, Prof, and I were silent for a while. We absorbed the homey feel of the establishment and watched the small stage being set up in the middle of the dining area. After the lattes came, Prof placed my manuscript on top of the table.

"I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that you finished this novel in roughly six months while doing one short story weekly," Prof started. "How was the process for you?"

"Fairly straightforward, if I'm being honest," I responded. "I'm usually one to overthink everything. Not in this novel, though. And Raven gave me the confidence to write as I saw best for the story because he's a reliable proofreader. He also became like my second brain. He was there when I had to make sure the plot still makes sense."

"I honestly enjoyed proofing for this book," Ven added. "Well knows how to write complicated flows in ways that are not difficult to read, and most of my notes were misspellings and few grammatical errors. I thought there was a plothole midway through, but it made sense at the end. I just had to trust that he had a full grasp of the story."

"How different was your writing here from your short stories?" Prof followed up.

"We were more... descriptive here. We used a lot of adjectives to establish characters and settings to keep readers interested and invested. It's not like a short story where I usually focus, as you advised, on how to seamlessly deliver the events of the story so that they're easy to digest in one sitting. For this, we had room to flesh out characters, locations, and emotions." I have been thinking of this, the difference between novels and short stories. I knew it would be one of Prof's concerns since all his creative tips so far were for short-form writing.

"Do you have faith in this novel?" Prof questioned me.

"Faith?" I asked back. What does faith have to do with this?

"I do," Raven said firmly. I turned to look at him.

"What? It's good! Sure, we can tweak it a bit, but I would honest-to-God read and enjoy it as it is now even if I don't know you," Raven casually explained while sipping his latte.

"You?" Prof asked me again.

"I..." Prof's question is proving hard to answer.

"I thought you said you didn't overthink writing this, and the process was straightforward? Can you tell us your honest thoughts on your novel?" Prof doubled down.

They gave me a moment to think through my answer. With a deep breath, I started to process this unexplainable insecurity the only way I knew how - through words on paper.

I grabbed my notepad and pen from my pocket to draft an outline of events that triggered this insecurity. I cringed at remembering writing "Loving You" every time I thought of Prof reading it. I did multiple revisions of my many short stories because I was afraid that Prof would see errors in them. I was insecure at first when Raven got involved with the novel because we were only friends a month before I asked the favor. I immediately felt like going through the entire manuscript again when Ven and Prof expressed excitement about reading it. I instantly felt small and incapable when Vinny asked me to read aloud one of my writings. That's it.

"I think I have faith in the story, but I don't have faith my writing gave justice to it. I think I am insecure with people reading my work," I said with my head bowed.

"No, duh," Raven chirped. Prof hushed him and cleared their throat.

"Gladwell, my boy, we understand. And I have assured you time and again that I will not read your writings without your consent. The same with all the stories you've written before. You have to trust us, though. We are here to help, and we believe in you unconditionally."

I know. I have known this for a while now. Why then do I not have faith in my writing? Why don't I have faith that these two people will understand it?

Our table was silent for a while. We only enjoyed the coffee and watched the interesting sets of people slowly crowding the cafe. When the clock struck 6 P.M., the microphone turned on with a slight static.

Vinny stepped up to the podium and tested the mic. After a thumbs up from her audio guy, she cleared her throat and started. Already, people are whooping and cheering around the cafe.

"Welcome to Hopper Cafe & Pastries' Weekly Open Mic! I see a lot of friendly faces and several new ones! Welcome! As you can see, we have a full band set up here. We also have our digital music station, operated by our charming audio guy, Ryan. Everyone, please have a go here! Take the stage and share your songs, poems, book excerpts, or anything you want us to see and hear! As always, our brewed coffee will be free and unlimited during the event! Pair them with our lovely pastry chef's tasty tarts and mini cakes for discounted prices! We also have baked fries and chicken! Please approach Ryan if you want to perform, and enjoy the rest of the night!"

I could swear almost every table had someone ready to perform. It amazed me. How are they so sure of themselves?

Raven suddenly stood and straightened his shirt, preparing to head to the audio guy.

"Go get 'em!" Prof Rye cheered Ven. Ven responded with two thumbs up as he jogged toward the stage.

I got the courage to ask Prof the question running through my mind.

"Prof, how are they so confident? How could they tell they won't suck onstage?"

"They can't. They probably just like being able to do what they are doing, and they only hope that someone appreciates it."

"What if their intentions don't come across?"

"They take notes, adjust, do it again."

"What if it's not something they can adjust?"

Prof thought for a beat before answering this.

"Then maybe they trust that their audience will see past their flaws and appreciate their art as it is."

For a while, we watched as patrons performed one by one. The first was a singer. The second was a local poet, and he distributed copies of his poem booklet to the audience after his reading. The third was an acoustic cover band.

Trusting the audience, huh. Maybe I can test this idea.